


collide!

by pragma (CarlileLovesAnime)



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Gen, M/M, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-17
Updated: 2015-04-18
Packaged: 2018-03-23 10:26:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3764707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarlileLovesAnime/pseuds/pragma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With super strength, super speed, masterful sword skills and a winning attitude, Takeshi Yamamoto (a.k.a. "All-Star") lives and breathes professional heroism. Then he breaks his arm -- badly -- in a training accident. </p><p>His temporary replacement is one "Smoking Bomb", who is less than thrilled to be working with such a simpleton.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. [rainstorm] the call.

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of the most severe breaks Dr. Verde has ever treated. Which must be saying something, Yamamoto laments.  
> \--  
> 1/4 of _part i: rainstorm._  
>  for [8059 week](http://8059week.tumblr.com)  
> tumblr post: [here](http://pragmafics.tumblr.com/post/116642713986/collide)  
> (i'm just glad to be writing again, even if it is for a fraction of a mostly-dead fandom. never thought i'd write for this pair though. life takes you strange places.)

He feels nothing – he wouldn’t have discovered that the bone even broke had he not seen the blood everywhere. Right radius split like  _that_ , stuck out the skin like a tree downed by lightning. It felt so far away. That was what shock tended to do. 

The pain is still far away, thanks to the morphine. In his head Yamamoto’s not even arrived at the second stage of grief. “–And if you have any questions or concerns at all, just call our office, all right? I wrote the number at the top of this page for quick access.” 

The nurse speaks to him as if he can’t read, and he’s trying to look engaged but really he’s clouded in the thought of,  _What is going on?_  He nods and consciously shuts his mouth. 

“Everything is clear to you?” She tucks the instruction sheet into a manila folder, and keeps her eyes expectant on him. 

He cracks a smile – or not – for all he can sense he may just be contorting his face into the most hideous expression in the history of humankind. “Super clear,” he says. “The clearest. So clear I can see straight through it.” 

The nurse fake-laughs. “Good.” At this she makes a gesture to an orderly, who delivers a wheelchair to his bedside. 

“I can walk,” he protests. No one believes him. 

There’s a gray car outside the front of the building. He doesn’t recognize it, but he’s wheeled right up to it, and met by a man in a black jacket. Yamamoto just gawks at him, eyes glossed over. 

The nurse shows the manila folder to the stranger, and gives him the gist of the care instructions. The man seems utterly disinterested. He opens the back door of the car while she’s talking. The orderly brings the wheelchair right up to it, and grunts as they lift Yamamoto to his feet. He stumbles a bit, catching himself – with his free arm – on the door. 

“Why’s the Sword Emperor here?” 

The nurse shuts up, the orderly places their hand tentatively on Yamamoto’s back, and the man’s attention snaps to him. 

“The Agency sent me,” he says. He looks offended. 

“What Agency?” Yamamoto asks. 

The man scoffs. “The one you work for, dumbass.” 

He makes a long, impressed noise, eyebrows shooting up. “Good for you, joining the good guy side.” He laughs. 

“I’m not the Sword Emperor!” The man takes a step toward him. “I’m here to take over your beat until your arm heals. They didn’t want you working with that kind of injury, and I was due for a new assignment.” He turns away, swipes the folder out of the nurse’s hand, and stalks around the front of the car. “Lord help me if you’re always this thickheaded.” 

“The morphine isn’t out of his system yet,” the nurse stammers, but the man pays her no mind. The orderly gets Yamamoto buckled into the backseat. 

With the doors all closed, the stranger starts the engine. 

“So.” Yamamoto claps his hands together. “You’re  _not_ the Sword Emperor.” 

The stranger glances at him in the rearview. “Hell no.” He shoves the folder in the crevice between the console and the passenger’s seat, pulls on his seatbelt, and shifts the gear to drive. 

Yamamoto leans forward, hands on the head of the passenger’s seat. “Should I just call you my buddy, then?” 

The man shakes his head. “Smoking Bomb.” He comes to a stop sign at the edge of the parking lot, and peers back over his shoulder. “And I’m not your buddy.” 

“Okay.” Yamamoto nods and then yawns. He lays the side of his head on the windowpane and watches the view whiz by, entranced, until he falls asleep. 


	2. [rainstorm] shot for the moon, missed.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When you’re sitting on the couch in your apartment, nursing a compound fracture and watching your favorite baseball team lose, there’s one nice thing you can do: call your parents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumblr post: [here](http://pragmafics.tumblr.com/post/116654207856/collide).

“We heard about that,” Father says. “There was a report on the Agency website. How are you feeling?” 

“Hasn’t sunk in all the way yet.” Yamamoto glances at the bag of ice resting on his forearm. 

Dad clicks his tongue. “Aw, sweetheart.” 

“Well, whenever it does, just remember it doesn’t make you any less of a hero.” Father’s voice has gone firm. “If anything it proves your resilience.” 

“Just be careful, please,” Dad adds. 

Yamamoto nods – and then remembers they can’t see him, of course. “Yeah.” 

Father launches into an anecdote about the time an opponent slashed his whole leg open up the side and he thought he’d die from blood loss. His leg hasn’t quite been the same since. 

“That’s terrifying!” Dad whines. “Don’t make me think about that!” 

Father laughs it off: “It’s part of being in the business.” (He can sense Dad frowning over the phone.) Father clears his throat. “Just don’t overexert yourself, okay?” 

“I’ll be more cautious next time,” Yamamoto says. 

Dad sounds shrill. “You better be, Takeshi! I don’t know what we’d do if we lost you.” 

He may not be lost to them, but he is to the city of Namimori, for the time being. 

“You taking it easy, champ?” Father asks. 

“Yeah.” Yamamoto turns around to look out the window behind him. He can’t see anything but the concrete wall of the building next door. “The Agency sent someone to cover for me while I’m out of commission.” 

Dad makes a curious grunting noise. “Wow,” Father says, “That must mean you’re doing an important job.” 

“And the injury was bad enough, I guess.” 

“Well, like I said,” Father replies, “Just take it easy with that arm till you can work like normal.” 

He scowls, and faces forward. “Yeah.” 


	3. [rainstorm] murphy's law.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first time he’s left the house in six days, and it rains cats and dogs, of course.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [tumblr post](http://pragmafics.tumblr.com/post/116673072041/collide)  
>  sorry this was posted on here a day late. i couldn't add the chapter until later.

He stands just inside the shopfront, sighs at the diagonal sheets of water crashing down on the other side of the window, and repositions the paper bags he’s holding. Thunder coughs overhead. He thinks about his shoes. 

“Oh, wow! All-Star!” He turns toward the voice and meets the wide eyes of a child, who had been wrestling with the crane machine in the corner. 

Yamamoto grins. “You recognized me without my costume?” 

“Of course!” The kid scampers up to him, and in turn he makes an effort to near their eye level. “You came to my school earlier this year to talk about bullying.” 

“Indeed I did – I remember that.” He raises his eyebrows. “You’ve been good, I’m sure.” 

The child nods and then looks at his cast. “What happened to your arm?” 

“It was just an accident,” he says, throwing in a chuckle to make it all seem as casual as possible. 

They make a – curious? confused? disappointed? – face. “So it’s broken? My sister broke her arm once, falling off a trampoline.” The child glances to his face, back to the cast, “Can I touch it?”, to his face again. 

“Go ahead.” 

The thunder exhales around the store. The kid places their hand gingerly on the cast, and watches the spaces between their fingers like they expect it to melt or glow or something, anything other than just sit there bracing a limb. 

“I didn’t think superheroes had to deal with such common things,” the child finally says, in hushed awe. They run their fingertips along the bandage rolled around the outside of it. Their hand recoils. 

Yamamoto cocks his head to the side. “We do.” The kid meets his eyes. “Why do you think I’m at the grocery store?” 

He laughs. The kid laughs too. 

“Well.” He stands. “It was nice to run into you, kiddo.” 

“Yeah!” The hugest, starriest-eyed smile spreads on their face. 

“Be safe,” he says. 

“I will.” They nod eagerly. “I’m gonna wait here till the storm leaves so I’m not struck by lightning.” 

Yamamoto furrows his eyebrows. “You’re here by yourself?” 

“Just to get batteries.” They puff out their chest. 

He sucks in his lip, shakes his head, steals a glimpse out the window, and says, “I can get you home.” 

The kid freezes. 

“I’m serious.” He kneels. “Climb on my back. I’ll carry you.” 

Their jaw drops and hands ball into fists. “For real? With your super speed?!” 

“Yeah,” he chuckles. 

They hop up and down – compose themselves, clamber up onto his shoulders, and hold tight around his neck as he rises. “Oh, man,” he hears them exclaim to themself, “This is so cool.” 

“You have what you needed to buy here, right?” Yamamoto asks. 

The kid says the batteries are in their hoodie pocket because they didn’t want to waste a bag. 

His eyes narrow. “Then off we go.” 

The child’s mom and sister, only two and a half blocks from the store, are so grateful to him that they all insist he stay for dinner. It’s the least they can do, claims the mom, especially since he’s selflessly protected this community for nearly five years. 


	4. [rainstorm] you wouldn't like me.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All he wanted was some coffee and conversation. God.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [tumblr post](http://pragmafics.tumblr.com/post/116689478006/collide)

First thing the next morning he goes for a jog. He keeps his jacket hood up and maneuvers around puddles at what others would probably think of as an average human speed. 

The neighborhood, judging from the calmness of the park, seems to be at peace. He’s embarrassed to admit to himself that he forgot this scene existed. Colors show vividly; birds hop and flit about. A gang of women with baby strollers wave hello as they pass him. Old men perched around a chess table ignore him. His arm starts to hurt. Maybe this scene never  _did_ exist until now. 

He eases to a stop at a bend in the trail and internally catalogues all the different plants and clouds and patterns in the dirt, struck breathless with the transience of things. 

At length he lifts his good arm to check the time, turns around, and heads toward his apartment. He stops beside a shop down the road. Something about the prospect of walking into that quaint little coffee place, standing in line just like every other stranger, and drinking a big ol’ cup of green tea fits the mood of the morning so well. 

The man at the back of the queue has his nose buried in his phone. He glances at Yamamoto behind him and grunts in acknowledgement. Yamamoto shoots a polite smile. It takes him a second to realize who it is–. 

“Smoking Bomb.” He keeps his volume low, but it doesn’t hide his excitement. 

The man looks his way again – scowling, he cocks an eyebrow. “You actually remember. Huh.” 

“I’m glad I found you,” Yamamoto says. They move up one space in the line. “I wanted to get your phone number, just so I could keep up to date on what’s happening.” He shrugs. “And help you out if you need it.” 

“I don’t need any help from you,” Smoking Bomb mutters. His attention returns to his phone. 

Yamamoto chuckles weakly. “At any rate, think we could swap contact info?” He smiles again. 

“No.” 

He feels like he’s just had the strength shaken out of him. He pretends to study the blackboard behind the counter for a moment. Smoking Bomb then pockets his cell phone. 

“Lookit.” His voice is like a seismic wave of pinpricks. “There are two things you need to know about the situation between you and me.” 

Yamamoto looks at him, but all he sees at first is the top part of the man’s head. His hair is gray, and his ears pierced in many places. 

“One, you stay out of my way, so I can do my job. And two…” 

They match gazes. Smoking Bomb’s eyes are intense, deep, quick-moving. “You get your arm well, so I can get the hell out of here as fast as I can and move on with my life.” 

Yamamoto’s good hand flies to his cast. 

“Capiche?” Smoking Bomb growls. 

He gawks at his substitute, mashing his eyebrows together and apart. “I capiche you loud and clear.” His voice comes out small. 

Smoking Bomb huffs and pulls his phone back out, and All-Star releases a steadying breath. 


	5. [after school] evil eye.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Probably one of the only things he likes about this city is the easy navigation. He knows how to get to just about anywhere, from just about anywhere, and it’s been only a week since he arrived. The same cannot be said of his old haunt. Though he could do without the rainy weather.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's the beginning of part two, which is based on day two's prompt of after school. (the other prompts were freespace and au, but this is already an au, so.)   
> [tumblr post](http://pragmafics.tumblr.com/post/116733359351/collide)

He tramps a couple blocks down, holding a reusable mug and taking in movement from every which direction, to find Mel stationed at the same corner she always is. 

“He went into McDonald’s for a while an’ then he headed east,” she reports. She shakes her phone side to side. “I’m waiting to hear from Angela. She’s over in that direction. She’s probably seen ‘im by now.” 

Smoking Bomb nods. “That’s what I needed to know.” He slides a bill out of his jacket pocket and hands it to her. 

She smiles, examining the money. He starts toward the train tracks. “This is a pretty penny for not actually doing you any favors,” she says. He shrugs, and he can hear her giggle. 

Surely enough he spies a gangly man in a white hat just a few streets away. He breaks into a run – the target starts to run too.  _That’s definitely_ his _gait._

“Stop!” 

The target ducks into an alleyway. He brakes at the backdoor to a restaurant, exhales in relief, and tosses glances all about. The air is so humid he could swim through it, and smells like wet dirt. He’s already coated in sweat. 

And he’s on the ground. Smoking Bomb pins him, his feet trapping his sides. 

“What are you doing here, Yo-Yo Boy?” Smoking Bomb crosses his arms. 

Yo-Yo Boy’s expression is totally flat. “That hurt a bit. This is excessive force, you know.” 

“I don’t give a fuck,” he snarls. “You’re supposed to be in prison right now.” 

“Good behavior.” 

Smoking Bomb spits on the concrete, and Yo-Yo Boy rolls his head away. “Bullshit.” 

“I’m minding my own business.” 

At this Smoking Bomb squats down, studies Yo-Yo Boy’s blank face, and turns one foot inward to push the toe of his shoe into Yo-Yo’s waist. “The Tenth and I took down your organization.” He furrows his eyebrows. “You think I wouldn’t kick your ass again?” 

Yo-Yo Boy says nothing. He doesn’t even seem to move. 

“You can’t just be minding your own business if the Agency’s issued an APB for you and your partner, with instructions to not hold back.” Smoking Bomb makes a loose fist around the collar of Yo-Yo Boy’s T-shirt. “What are you doing here?” 

Yo-Yo Boy grinds his teeth, shuts his eyes, and says, “Let go of me and I’ll show you.” 


	6. [after school] about an oxford comma.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He doesn't normally do this, mind you -- he's just tired today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [tumblr post](http://pragmafics.tumblr.com/post/116757498696/collide)

This hotel – with its peeling stucco, green pool water, and littered ashtrays – has clearly not prospered in a long time. As he follows Yo-Yo Boy closely along the outdoor covered hallway, Smoking Bomb takes mental note of the name on the sign. A bearded man in a stained tanktop walks past them, nearly bumping shoulders with him. 

Yo-Yo Boy stops them at room 113, knocks, throws a warning glance in Smoking Bomb’s direction ( _yeah, right_ ), scans the keycard, and opens the door just a crack. 

Somebody grabs the inside knob and opens the door wide. “Kaki-pii, what too–.” His eyes fix on Smoking Bomb. “What is  _he_ doing here?” 

“Relax, Ken,” Yo-Yo Boy says. “I’ve got it under control.” 

Fang Boy scrunches up his nose. “He’s not allowed in here.” He shuts the door slightly. 

Yo-Yo Boy tilts his head, pushes Fang Boy’s arm, and steps into the hotel room. “You’re being too loud.” 

Smoking Bomb enters immediately behind, of course, exchanging nasty glares with Fang Boy as they pass each other. Fang Boy is sure to lock the door securely. 

The room is utterly filthy: garbage overflowing from trashcans, clothes strewn about, some kind of stain on the carpet, and a weird smell coming from the mini-fridge. It’s easy to overlook the young woman lying in the far bed. She sleeps perfectly still. Her skin sickly white, tubes connecting bags to various parts of her body, her hair unwashed and thin. Smoking Bomb stands next to Yo-Yo Boy at her bedside, observing her grimly. Fang Boy guards them from right behind. 

“You remember what happened to our leader,” Yo-Yo Boy says, and Smoking Bomb nods once. He gestures toward the girl. “While he was alive, this person was very precious to him.” 

“She was like his morality leash,” Fang Boy adds. 

Yo-Yo Boy slides the hat off his head and smooths his long black hair. “She got in a car accident a year ago and has been in this sorry state ever since. Once that happened, Mukuro just kind of stopped caring. Not long after he went on that rampage you and X-Burner had to stop.” 

Smoking Bomb swallows hard. 

“He had a goal beforehand, you know,” Fang Boy says in the man’s defense, and he gets on his tiptoes and then lowers himself. “It’s just, she can’t even do anything but blink, and just lay there. I mean, what would you do if that happened to somebody you loved?” 

“I don’t think I’d go out and commit premeditated mass murder,” Smoking Bomb mutters, earning him another mean face from Fang Boy. 

Yo-Yo Boy adjusts his glasses. “Still. Her family can’t afford to keep her in the hospital full-time anymore. Ken and I decided that we will take care of her until she passes away.” He and Smoking Bomb face each other. “It’s what Mukuro would want, I think. Her family has never been very good to her.” 

Smoking Bomb looks at her again, and furrows his eyebrows. “So, you two broke out of Vindice Prison, pulled her out of whatever hospital she had been staying in–” 

“Kokuyo Land General,” says Yo-Yo Boy. 

“–and brought her to a crappy hotel in Namimori to live out the rest of her days in filth and discomfort.” 

“How dare you!” Fang Boy punches him in the shoulder blade. “We’re doing the best we can for her!” 

Smoking Bomb spreads his arms. “Your story’s got some holes in it.” 

“We didn’t want to stay where we had a reputation,” Yo-Yo Boy explains, and he lays a hand on the small of Fang Boy’s back, which has a calming effect on him. 

“Well.” Smoking Bomb sucks in a lip. “You bet on the wrong place, in my opinion. If you had told this story to the Tenth he would have had mercy on you.” 

Fang Boy jumps back, spreads his legs and puts up his dukes. “You wanna go, Inspector Gadget?” 

Smoking Bomb puts up an open palm. “Not here.” He scans the girl from head to toe, sighs curtly, and rubs his forehead with his knuckles. Fang Boy gets between him and her bed. 

At length, he asks, “Do you guys have the money to support yourselves and her for however long you expect to be here?” 

“Yes,” Yo-Yo Boy says. 

He lowers his hands. “You’re not going to steal anything or assault anybody or–” 

“No way!” Fang Boy assures him. “Not if we don’t have to!” 

Smoking Bomb clicks his tongue. “Poor broad. Alright.” He turns and looks the two young men in their faces. “I’m gonna be keeping an eye on both of you.” 

Yo-Yo Boy nods. “What, you don’t think we’re being honest?” Fang Boy asks. 

“There is no actual reason for me to trust you.” He glances back at the girl and then returns to them. “I’ll consult the Tenth about this. In the meantime, no funny business.” He heads for the door. “I’ll be watching,” he warns them over his shoulder. 

“What,” Fang Boy teases, “You can’t make any decisions by yourself?” Yo-Yo Boy elbows him in the side. Smoking Bomb just ignores him, shutting the door carefully on his way out. 


End file.
